For some reason related to the poetic symmetry of fate, it is fitting that the last speaker of the Yhagan language would live in the southernmost village of the world. The Villa Ukika, with population of 51, is an indigenous village located South East of Puerto Williams, a Chilean village that is in turn South of Ushuaia. Puerto Williams has a population of 3000. It was originally a naval settlement, and the officers of the Chilean navy appear to still constitute the main population here.
The search for Cristina Calderón turned out to be a feat no less challenging than the search of Marie Smith Jones in Anchorage. I had only obtained spotty and vague information as to the whereabouts of “La Abuela” (“Grandma”), as she is known here.
I finally managed to hire a little rubber boat that crossed me from Ushuaia to Isla Navarino in Chile, where Puerto Williams is located. We crossed amidst snow and the frigid wind on the boat that jumped on the waves as if we were horse-riding. We had to make an appointment with two immigration officers that met us at Puerto Navarino (an otherwise deserted spot) in order to get our passports stamped (once again). From there, a van took us to the other side of the island through a dirt road (there are no paved streets or highways here), crossing snow and sleet, until we finally reached our destiny.
I walked into Villa Ukika, which has a spectacular view to the sea and the mountains. The house of La Abuela was in the center of the village. The local butcher came in the middle of the interview to deliver a giant and bloody piece of meat. She explained to me that everyone was related to her in the village: she had six children, thirteen grandchildren, and the great-grandchildren keep coming. Referring to her large family, she said “ maybe I reproduced myself a lot due to the fact that I was practically an orphan”. Her father died shortly after she was born, and her mother died when she was five. She grew up amongst uncles and aunts, as well as her grandfather, who had a special religious veneration for the sun. During Cristina’s childhood, Yaghan culture was already in quick decline. The last Yaghan celebration she witnessed was in 1936, when she was eight years old. Hers was the last generation to learn the language, and her last interlocutor was her sister, who died recently. I asked her if she dreamt in Yaghan. “But of course. That is how I speak to all of them still”.
As it happened to me when I interviewed Marie Smith Jones, I did not know how to pose the question of how did she feel about being the last speaker of her language. But she started talking about it when she spoke about solitude, and about her ambivalence with God. “My daughter committed suicide a few years ago. She took pills. I stopped going to the church, because I thought that if something so unfair had happened, there was no god anywhere. An evangelist came once to my house and tried to convince me to go to church, saying that if my daughter died it was perhaps because it was the best fate for her, that she and I would have suffered a lot otherwise.” Cristina did not buy the argument, and she still never returned to church. However, she somehow regained her faith, although in a personal way and within her own home. “I think that, in the end, we all are alone with ourselves and with God”.
I left her house and saw the sea again, and that powerful and melancholic austral light, the many asleep dogs in the village, and I went back on the dirt road. That last and simple thought that we are ultimately alone with ourselves got me thinking. There is a lot to think about in the next few days and on these pages. But, for the time being, having met Cristina Calderón provided definite closure to my unrest. It closes this long conversation of hundreds of voices that started in Anchorage. My trip had officially concluded.
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Por alguna razón quizá relacionada con la simetría poética del destino, se siente apropiado que la última hablante de los yaganes viva en la aldea más al sur del mundo. La aldea Ukika, con 51 habitantes, se encuentra al sureste de Puerto Williams, un poblado chileno localizado a su vez al sur de Ushuaia. Un transporte en lancha de goma, que me cruzó a la isla. Atravesamos entre la nieve y el frío gélido en la lancha que trotaba como caballo por las olas del canal. Cristina Calderón, conocida mejor como La abuela, me explicó que en su infancia la cultura yagana iba ya en rápido declive. La última celebración yagán que presenció fue a los ocho años, en 1936. La última generación en aprender el idioma fue la suya, y su última interlocutora fue su hermana, quien falleció recientemente. “Mi hija se suicidó hace unos años. Se tomó unos remedios. Yo dejé de ir a la iglesia. Creo que todos al final estamos solos con nosotros mismos y con dios”. Salí de su casa y ví de nuevo el mar, y esa poderosa y melancólica luz austral, los perros dormidos en la aldea, y caminé por el sendero de lodo. Esa última reflexión de que estamos ultimadamente solos con nosotros mismos, dicha por la última hablante de una lengua en el poblado más remoto del mundo, me dejó pensativo. De momento, el haber conocido a Cristina Calderón cierra finalmente esta larga conversación de cientos de voces que comenzó hace cuatro meses en Anchorage. El trayecto ha oficialmente concluído.